


He had a Colt 45 and a deck of cards.

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-23
Updated: 2006-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: "Want to come to my bed? Won't costyoua dime."The wash of warm whiskey breath make Kevin wrinkle his nose as he turned his head, and then he lost all capacity for talking. The trashy broad leaning over his shoulder, all smoke-filled raven curls and exaggerated drawl, wasn't a broad. There was khol smudged around  dark flashing eyes, and paste jewels sparkling in amongst the long curls, and lipstick smudges  on the glass that was dangling from a gloved hand, wrist resting on Kevin's other shoulder, but this was no broad.  Not with that flat chest, and the adam's apple.Kevin shrugged and twisted away."Get,"  he snarled, and turned back to his poker game.The three roughnecks he was playing were all of them grinning. Fuckin' no good local boys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's [](http://luxshine.livejournal.com/profile)[**luxshine**](http://luxshine.livejournal.com/) 's birthday, so in celebration, I committed crack-fic. With encouragement from [](http://turps33.livejournal.com/profile)[**turps33**](http://turps33.livejournal.com/) , enabling and incredible patience by [](http://nopseud.livejournal.com/profile)[**nopseud**](http://nopseud.livejournal.com/). As always, all remaining mistakes are my own. Lux - I appologise if this is wide of the mark, but I hope it makes you smile.

"Want to come to my bed? Won't cost _you_ a dime."

The wash of warm whiskey breath make Kevin wrinkle his nose as he turned his head, and then he lost all capacity for talking. The trashy broad leaning over his shoulder, all smoke-filled raven curls and exaggerated drawl, wasn't a broad. There was khol smudged around dark flashing eyes, and paste jewels sparkling in amongst the long curls, and lipstick smudges on the glass that was dangling from a gloved hand, wrist resting on Kevin's other shoulder, but this was no broad. Not with that flat chest, and the adam's apple.

Kevin shrugged and twisted away.

"Get," he snarled, and turned back to his poker game.  The three roughnecks he was playing were all of them grinning. Fuckin' no good local boys.

Kevin reached out an arm and locked his fingers around the broad's forearm. Lilac satin. Nothing a decent woman would wear, but maybe that's what the sort of men who would respond to a come on from this – this half-creature, maybe it's what they would go for. Kevin didn't pretend to know, but he could spot a poker hustle ten miles away, and he was plannin' on going home with these boys' wages in his pocket tonight.

"On second thoughts, _miss_ , maybe you should stay right here 'til we finish this hand."

There were no spare stools, so when he twisted his wrist she sank to the floor alongside Kevin, glaring at him.

"You take your hand off me, now, _sir_ ," she – he – hissed, but there was no struggling.

No way a nancy creature like this one would take on a fight, Kevin figured, but he was discomforted enough that he let go, and turned back to the game, making a show of settling his waistcoat down and adjusting his hat on the table before he considered his hand. A boot heel on the skirts would keep his new friend from sharing his cards with anyone.

*****

They couldn't be sharping him, not using his own cards, but Kevin was sour and angry when the blond kid doffed his hat and took his leave, taking with him two silver dollars from Kevin's hard-won stash, his friends following, all back claps and bon homie. Sour and frustrated. He'd lost his money, he'd lost face, and with this perversion sitting at his feet like a lap dog, none of the real ladies who worked the saloon had been near all evening.

"C'mon," Kevin growled, getting to his feet, scarcely clumsy at all, considering how much whisky had chased down his failed bluffs. That gloved hand was light, but it felt like it was burning the whole way across the room. Every damned person who was still standing was watching them go.

"Why you gotta pick a fella like me," Kevin mumbled, tripping on the steps down to the mud that passed for mainstreet in this little po-dunk hole. Somehow his arm was around the creature, and heaven help if he wasn't as small and slight as a wench, and warm against his side.

"'Cos, honey, you're a mean mannered drunk, but you're pretty with it." There was the wet sound of an exaggerated kiss.

Kevin slapped, hard and fast, like a snake, and lord but it felt good. Being able to let go, 'cos she weren't a real lady. She weren't even a dame. And then the little sly fucker hauled back and buried her fist in Kevin's gut, and knocked the wind clear out of him. There was bile in his mouth, but his right hand had his pistol out and cocked before he found his focus again.

"Motherfucker, you know who I am?" Kevin growled.

"No, and I don't give a good-god damn." A weight nudged against his Colt, and Kevin realised that the crazy fucker was leaning in, pressing the gun barrel amongst the folds of satin. "You going to shoot, mister? Cos maybe you should. What'll people think we're doing down here, round the back of the saloon, all alone. Gonna let me suck your dick, maybe? Gonna suck on mine."

Kevin's trigger finger was itching to squeeze and fill that chattering mouth full of blood and holes, but the unexpected touch of cold steel to the corner of his jaw held his attention admirably.

"You might want to put down that mighty fine firearm of yours. Slowly, now. Real slow." The voice behind him was low and even, and the blunt pressure of the gun barrel was joined by the sharp prick of a knife blade on the other side as the man moved around. The pervert had edged away, and Kevin moved slowly, as requested, crouching and dropping his gun into the mud.

He stood up carefully, when the sting of the blade parting his skin made it clear that was expected too, and then the bitch who'd got him into this predicament was back in his line of sight, looking none too sad about having the duty of tying his wrists so tight together that Kevin could feel his fingers going numb.

"How're you doing, Chrissie?" the man behind him asked, and Chrissie gave a final tug to the rope.

"All the better for you showing up, my love."

*****

They had him tied up, set in the back of their covered wagon, right where there was nothing he could do but watch their perversion. Watch their roaming hands, listen to the suck and moan of their kissing. Lamplight and biting ropes and the uncomfortable feeling that, even if he closed his eyes he still wouldn't see nothing but broad hands wrapped round the drawn-in corseted waist, stroking up over muscled bare shoulders. With the wig gone and the skirts thrown aside he couldn't pretend that this was anything but two men. And with the way they were going, rutting together like jack-rabbits, there was no mistaking their purpose.

Kevin was sitting on their flour sack, and the whole width of the wagon up front was a box bed, tall and padded, and Kevin tried not to watch when they fell backwards together, rolling and groaning and kicking their boots free, but it was fast and primal, and even if he closed his eyes, strained his neck looking away, he could hear them, and then the tall one cried out, and Kevin could smell it; thick musky sex. He could feel his own John-Thomas reacting as well, which made the blood hammer in his head in a panic.

The movement from the bed slowed and stilled, and Kevin was sure that nothing good was going to come of his kidnappers remembering that they had an audience, so he tried to stay real quiet.

"What'd you want to do with this feller, anyway?"

The taller guy leaned up on his elbow and grinned at Kevin. He had lipstick marks on his cheek and neck. Chrissie's face appeared over the guy's shoulder.

"I don’t know, Joe – you think he might be fun to play with?"

Joe made a 'so so' motion with one hand, and winked.

Kevin was terrified. Give him a knock-down drag-out bar fight any day, a high-noon shoot out, a whore's knife in the back, but this – lord. He couldn't even imagine what men such as these might do to a man. Or he could, but he was wishing for the sake of his nerves that he could stop doing so some time soon, because the thoughts that crossed his mind were making him decidedly fearful, and that wasn't a sensation he was overly familiar with.

The sounds of footsteps, spurs clinking, and drunk, sing-song voices were almost a relief, and Kevin drew breath to holler for help, before his hopes were dashed when Chrissie said 'is that the rest of the boys coming back?' and Joe's reply was rendered redundant by someone pulling back the canvas behind Kevin.

"Woohoot! Fifteen dollars, boys, fifteen dollars and we weren't even cheatin' much."

Something small and heavy soared past Kevin's head and Joe snatched it out of the air. When he hefted it in his hand it was clearly a money bag.

"Good goin'." Joe smiled, and then the wagon tilted a little, as three men clambered into the back of it, jostling Kevin as they came. The clamor of voices and bodies stepping over each other in the confined space was such that Kevin really wished Chrissie hadn't lashed him to the tailgate, or he'd have been able to make his escape unheard. None of them seemed at all put out to find two men of their number in a compromising position, either.

"Hey, Joe." A strong bass voice spoke over the others. "Why we got company? I thought we agreed there was too much risk in that?"

In the stillness that followed the question Kevin recognized the three boys from the bar. He'd _known_ they'd been in cahoots. No wonder not a one of them had batted an eyelid when he'd been propositioned.

"Hey, it's that guy. You do pick 'em pretty, Chrissie."

The curly-haired lad knelt forward, touching Kevin's chin, and the solid lump of fear in Kevin's stomach wasn't sitting any easier. These men were no saviors. These men just made it five nancy boys against one man, and him tied up and un-armed. Kevin's imagination was none too happy with the new situation.

"Knock that off, kid." Joe swung his bare legs over the side of the box bed, sitting up with only his discarded shirt to preserve his modesty. " I didn't figure it would be a good idea to leave him walking around town, looking to pick a fight. That pretty boy there pulled a gun on our Chrissie, and I don’t want to say what he was thinking, but it sure looked like he meant to use it."

There was a chorus of voices, checking that none of their party had come to harm, but it was hard to pay any mind to that when the fingers on his chin went from stroking to holding it in an uncompromising grip.

"That true?"

Kevin nodded awkwardly. Wasn't like they'd take his word over two of their number, anyway.

"I should fuckin' shoot you now."

"You want to serve jail time over that piece of shit?" The bass voice was associated with the wide-eyed blond Kevin had underestimated at the poker table. "I say we let him pay for the insult, and leave him trussed up somewhere. His boots might even fit you, Joe."

"I do need new boots." Joe was rubbing a hand over his chin.

"Trussed up and nekkid," Chrissie added. " I can't say as I'd be upset if a rattle snake bit him in the ass, and I reckon Joshua could do something with that fancy waistcoat."

"Now that, my boys. That sounds like a plan."

*****

Epilogue.

When the sun rose the next morning, Kevin hadn't managed to get more than a fraction of an inch of leeway into the rope around his wrists, and his throat was already parched and tight from trying not to squeal or scream. He'd been manhandled by the lot of them, jostled and lifted and stripped down to his birthday suit, watching his money go into Joe's pockets, his gun belt slung around Joshua's narrow hips, the stash of jewelry he'd had stitched into his jacket dangling from Chrissie's ears, glinting in the lamplight. He'd been pinched and kicked and worse; he'd been licked and bitten, and there were lipstick kisses on his shoulders and his forehead. Their horses had kicked dust all over him, and the wagon had rattled off and left him here. Kevin was damned if he was going to give up and die from this, because some things. Some things demand revenge.

 

** fin **

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I _was_ listening to [Nick Cave's version of Stagger Lee](http://www.bad-seed.org/~cave/info/songs/mb_staggerlee.html) on repeat while I was furiously pounding on the keyboard, and those of you who know the song may spot the odd line of dialogue here and there that I lifted. That's also where the title came from.


End file.
